


Leave Your Mark

by azephirin



Series: As Certain Dark Things [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, As Certain Dark Things, Blow Job, Comment Fic, Gift Fic, Incest, Jealousy, M/M, Siblings, Stanford Era, Tattoos, University, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-28
Updated: 2010-01-28
Packaged: 2017-10-06 18:51:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azephirin/pseuds/azephirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Sing your mantra, leave your mark, color me.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Leave Your Mark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mickeym](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickeym/gifts).



> Written as a prezzie for [](http://mickeym.livejournal.com/profile)[**mickeym**](http://mickeym.livejournal.com/), with my thanks for the inspiration. ;) This is set in the same universe with [As Certain Dark Things](http://archiveofourown.org/works/51307) and its sequels, and takes place some indeterminate amount of time after [This Shelter in the Grove](http://archiveofourown.org/works/56157), and probably after [Push Me or Just Pull Me](http://archiveofourown.org/works/56486). It will make more sense if you've read the other stories in the 'verse, but if you're just here for the smut, know that this is substantially AU. Title and summary from "Tattoo," by Siouxsie and the Banshees.

Dean comes home from his last class to find Sam stretched out on the couch, surrounded by a vast assortment of books. "Hey," Sam says, and leans up into Dean's kiss, but he doesn't stop what he's doing.

"You understand that the university is closed for the next four days, right? We don't have class?"

"Yeah, OK, Mr. Sees-MATLAB-more-than-he-sees-me. Anyway, this isn't for school."

Dean shrugs his backpack and leather jacket onto one of the dining chairs. "So what's it for?"

"Research."

"Failing to see how that's not school-related, Sam."

"If I'm going to get a tattoo," Sam says, "I want to know what the hell I'm putting on my skin. I'm not going to be one of those losers who's all, 'oh, Chinese characters, cool!' and winds up with 'no smoking' tattooed upside-down on his shoulder blade."

Dean snorts, but then processes what Sam's said. "A tattoo? Really?"

"Yeah. Come here, I'll show you what I've been looking at." Sam doesn't make room, precisely, but he moves some books so that Dean can kick off his boots and settle against him on the couch. "I was thinking the Yggdrasil—the World Tree from Norse mythology—but it's so complicated; it would have to be a huge design and that's not really what I'm going for. I'm thinking I'm just going to go for an ash branch." He flips pages and shows Dean an illustration of a simple branch with seven long, narrow leaves.

"Where do you want it?" Dean asks.

Sam fidgets a little and pulls up the hem of his T-shirt. It's a long-sleeved one, plain and dark green, that Dean actually doesn't hate; Sam has demonstrated some truly odious tastes in T-shirts during his time at Stanford, but this one is inoffensive, even actively attractive against Sam's hazel eyes. Sam runs his finger down the cut of his hip, brings it to rest at the top of his belt. "I was thinking maybe here."

Dean slides his hand under Sam's, touching bare skin, and he feels Sam shiver. "There? Really?"

"I think so." Sam's voice is just the slightest bit unsteady.

Dean closes the book, sets it on the floor, moves so that he's between Sam's spread legs, sitting on his knees with Sam wide-eyed in front of him. Dean pushes Sam's shirt up a little higher, traces the fine topography of muscle and bone, outlines the soft skin of that jut of hip with his fingers. "You get that there," Dean says, "someone else is going to have to see you."

"Just a tattooist," Sam says softly. "They see that kind of stuff all the time. A lot more than that, I'm sure."

"Probably," Dean agrees, and trails his fingers across the waistband of Sam's jeans. Sam thrusts up, just a little bit, and Dean's not sure Sam even realizes he did it.

Sam puts his hand over Dean's. "They've got to be able to see what they're working on," he says. "Otherwise I could end up with something really fucked-up-looking." Dean laughs, and Sam adds, "But this belongs to you, Dean. Just you."

Dean strokes Sam's stomach some more, lightly, just barely brushing his fingertips over Sam's skin. He nods at the T-shirt. "Take that off," he says, and Sam does.

Dean unbuckles Sam's belt, opens the button fly of his jeans. Sam's half-hard already. Dean breathes out hot and close against the cotton of his boxer-briefs, and Sam gasps; Dean fits his mouth around the shape of Sam's cock through the fabric, and this time it's a full-out moan.

"You want me to go down on you, Sammy?" Dean asks, looking up, running a thumb over the covered head of Sam's cock.

"Please," Sam breathes.

"Since you asked so nicely," Dean says, and pulls down the briefs just enough to free Sam's cock. He's completely hard now, with a tiny liquid pearl at the tip, and Dean licks the fluid away.

Sam's hand slides into Dean's hair, and he exhales again, "Please."

Dean sucks Sam into his mouth, and Sam's plea this time is nonverbal but no less urgent for that. He bucks up, but Dean's hands are firm on his hips, holding him in place. He feels Sam's fingers tightening in his hair, can hear his upper body move and his head thrash on the couch cushions, but the rest of him is at Dean's mercy, and right now Dean wants Sam still so that he can go at his own pace, so that Sam comes when Dean wants him to and not a second before. He sucks slowly, meditatively; he'd like to be able to use his fingers on Sam's balls, but he doesn't think Sam will stay where he wants him if Dean moves his hands. Dean flicks his tongue on Sam's glans, licks the slit and tastes the essence of Sam until Sam's cries are continuous, one long wordless sentence that needs no translation. Sometimes Dean makes him beg—because Sam does it so blissfully and exquisitely—but this time he doesn't; he hollows his cheeks and increases the pressure as much as he can, and Sam comes with a shout that's almost a sob.

Afterwards, Sam licks the taste of himself out of Dean's mouth and says, "So, you're going with me to get this done, right?"

Obviously.


End file.
